THE EEDGE SrARROW. 67 



is now sounding away over the green corn-field. 

 One might fancy that our warbler was telling 

 some talc of sorrow to the unpitying winds, or 

 complaining like some poet to the boughs of the 

 wood, or to the Dryads, with which his fancy 

 peopled them. A ])eculiar shake of the wing is 

 an accompaniment to the song, which, though 

 little varied, is very sweet and gentle. The strain 

 is usually short, and the bird sits perched upon 

 the hawthorn or maple, which shadows the hedge- 

 bank or skirts the wood, or sings it forth from 

 some bough of the garden or orchard-tree. It is 

 heard very early in the morning, and is better at 

 tliat time, and at the close of eve, than in the 

 middle of the day, though it may be heard at any 

 hour, again and again, and is sung nearly through- 

 out the year, save during the almost universal 

 silence of autumn. It was probably of this bird 

 that the poet wrote : — 



** I thought the sjiarrow's note from heaven 

 Singing at dawn, from the alder bough ; 



I brought him home in his nest at even. — 

 He sings the song, but it pleases not now ; 



For I did not bring home the river and sky ; 



He sang to my ear — they sang to my eye." 



But to retm-n to our sober little bird, which, if 



